


i'll give you my jacket, i'll give you my heart

by tiffanyachings



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiffanyachings/pseuds/tiffanyachings
Summary: His head jerks around...and there she is, leaning against the wall and rummaging through her pockets: Caroline Penvenen, coat and lipstick just as bright red as the alert that lights up in his mind at the sight of her.It's like someone decided a single cherry on top of this catastrophe of a night out wasn't enough and turned it into a fucking fruit kebab.





	i'll give you my jacket, i'll give you my heart

**Author's Note:**

> written for fuckyeahdwightcaroline's fanwork week on tumblr.  
> title from 'heartbeat' by scouting for girls which is _such_ a good song for them.  
>  as always, many thanks to Megan for proofreading!

All things considered, Dwight reasons, using the word 'disastrous' to describe his night out shouldn’t even be considered a hyperbole.

It's not like he wanted to come anyway. George’s flat parties are always too loud and too crowded for his taste because he insists on inviting everyone and their sister (who knows, gaining her good opinion might advance his career in a couple of years!).

No, it was Ross 'the only party I'll willingly attend will be my fucking funeral' Poldark out of all people who suggested they could go 'to annoy George and drink all his whisky, come on, it'll be fun' and nothing, not even Dwight's protests that he has three assignments due next week and promised to call the departments about sponsorship for the Amnesty International society, persuaded him to let them stay at home.

And then Francis put just one drink too many into his hands, or maybe two, or three, in any case enough for him to get into a heated argument about healthcare privatisation with one of George's friends from Economics which is stupid and pointless because of course the heartless bastard won't have a sudden revelation that he should care about other people's well-being, but Dwight couldn't keep his damn mouth shut and in the blink of an eye the whole thing had attracted an embarrassingly large audience.

He didn’t even win the argument.

All Dwight wants to do is go home, fall into his bed and enjoy the blissful oblivion of sleep for a couple of hours before he'll have to drag himself into a 10am on Introduction to Clinical Practice and regret his life choices, but of course, because that's just his luck tonight, Ross is nowhere to be found. Well, he'll leave now, with or without him.

He grabs his jacket and his bag, gives a wave in George's vague direction (who is far too occupied with awkwardly trying to charm Elizabeth to notice), skips down the stairs and steps outside.

It's pouring.

Well, if that's not the cherry on top of it all. At least he brought an umbrella.

"Fuck."

He knows that voice. His head jerks around...and there she is, leaning against the wall and rummaging through her pockets: Caroline Penvenen, coat and lipstick just as bright red as the alert that lights up in his mind at the sight of her.

It's like someone decided a single cherry on top of this catastrophe of a night out wasn't enough and turned it into a fucking fruit kebab.

For a second he considers stepping back inside, but it's too late.

"Dwight Enys, as I live and breathe!"

Oh, here hell comes.

Caroline pushes herself off the wall and strolls over to him, excruciatingly slowly, her frown suddenly replaced that (frustratingly attractive) honeyed smirk that screams 'this will be fun' which for Dwight translates into 'this will turn into one of those memories I'll still cringe at when I think about it in twenty years'.

Which is why he should leave right now, before her mere presence induces him to make a fool of himself (it's one of her uncanny talents and she damn well knows it), but his mother raised him better than to leave a probably at least slightly intoxicated young woman standing on a dark rainy sidewalk to herself.

"Caroline," he says and it unintentionally comes out sounding more like a weary acknowledgement of her existence than a greeting. "You're alright there?"

She sighs dramatically.

"I was gonna call a cab, but I left my phone in my friend's bag and she's gone home with a guy..." She waves dismissively. "You don't happen to -"

"I have an umbrella,” Dwight bursts out. “I could walk you home...if you want to," he adds more slowly, his mind finally catching up with his tongue.

Oh _god_. This isn’t happening. He didn’t say that, _why did he say that?_ Now would be a convenient time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, he thinks, but the universe doesn’t appear willing to grant him even this small favour.

Caroline raises her eyebrows, half surprised, half bemused, then cocks her head and squints at him as if trying to measure him up.

Dwight is pretty sure his childhood lessons included something about how shamelessly staring at people is rude and disrespectful, but Caroline must've been sick that day. Not even his high school Chemistry teacher had a more piercing, judgemental gaze.

"Fine," she says at last, nonchalantly and with more than a pinch of haughtiness in her voice.

He could just turn around and walk away. Theoretically, at least. Why should he put up with all that arrogance? He could just leave her here, yes, right here on the spot, and probably spare himself a lot of frustrations. It's an option. An entirely reasonable one as well.

Too unfortunate that reason seems to suffer critical malfunction whenever he finds himself in Caroline Penvenen's presence.

It's really quite vexing.

Dwight sighs and puts up the umbrella.

  
xxx

It's not like he doesn't know how this is supposed to work. After all, he's seen movies. It's just that it looked much more romantic on screen and a lot less, well, awkward. And uncomfortable. And really fucking painful.

Technically, Dwight can still feel his hand which, he mentally remarks, is a good sign from a clinical perspective, but nevertheless he’s pretty sure it can’t be long now until the tissue starts freezing in the icy wind.

Obviously, he could simply solve the problem by taking the umbrella into the other hand, but asking Caroline to switch sides seems too awkward and making her hold the umbrella rude, so he suffers on.

Funny, the things you do for ~~foolish and unrequited infatuations with girls _way_ out of your league who are not even that nice, no, in fact they're actually exasperatingly arrogant and rude and this is ridiculous Dwight Enys _why do you even like her_ ~~ whatever this is between them.

Which, in all probability, is nothing. Sure, when they first met a couple of months ago over that plump little dog of hers, he got the impression that they got on well, possibly even with a chance of getting on more than well in the future, but it must have been wishful thinking on his part.

And Dwight knows he should forget about it – and how hard can it be, getting over something that never happened? - but it’s just bloody difficult to keep her out of his thoughts when his small foldable umbrella is absolutely not made for two people and her shoulder keeps rubbing against his and he can't quite make up his mind whether he wants that to stop or not, but it's certainly far more distracting than it should be...

…yes, very distracting, and if he spends any more time thinking about it he’ll surely say something stupid he’ll inevitably regret, so let's just get this over and done with as fast as possible.

Dwight quickens his pace. The less they talk, the less opportunity he'll have to make a fool of himself.

But Caroline has other plans.

"Do you always go to parties to yell about human rights?", she asks and shoots him a wicked smile.

Dwight feels a sudden urge to beat himself unconscious with his umbrella. Why did she have to see that?

Caroline lets out a high-pitched giggle at his mortified expression. "Oh, don't look like that! I thought you were quite impressive."

He nearly stops in his tracks.

“…you did?”, he manages and hopes the darkness hides the flush he can feel rising on his face.

“I said so, didn’t I? I – Can you hold that umbrella a little higher? I don’t want my coat getting wet.”

So she missed the childhood lessons on saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as well, a part of Dwight’s mind remarks, but he obliges anyway. His arm is so gonna be sore tomorrow, but Caroline complimenting him might just make it worth it.

“Anyway,” she continues, “where was I? Yes, I appreciate people with...a backbone. I'm a great believer in speaking your mind, y'know?"

Dwight raises his eyebrows. “I never would’ve guessed.”

The expression on Caroline’s face fluctuates between various shades of surprise and indignation in a matter of milliseconds before settling for approval.

"I was quite surprised to see you there, to be honest. I could’ve sworn you weren’t the type to show up at George’s fancy parties."

"My flatmate dragged me along."

Caroline nods and smiles sagely. "Ross Poldark."

"How do you -"

She rolls her eyes. "He's the guy I mentioned, the one my friend went home with. Dem hasn't shut up about him for weeks, so if he ever needs someone to write him a rose-tinted biography, send him to me. Anyway, I told him that Dem and I would be at George’s tonight just to see how he’d react and voilà! He showed up! I expect her eternal gratitude in the morning."

She grins self-satisfied and gives him an expectant look like she's waiting for him to praise her matchmaking game, but Dwight is far too confused by this waterfall of new information to give her what she wants.

"...who's Dem?", he asks instead and tightens his grasp around the handle of the umbrella the strong wind seems insistent on snatching away.

"Demelza. Carne. She told me you know each other."

“Um, not particularly well, but yes.”

He frowns. They lost contact after a few months of volunteering at the same Oxfam (Dwight fondly remembers her for bringing the best apple pies to work he’s ever had) and Caroline is just about the last person he expected to bring her up again.

“ _You’re_ friends with Demelza?”

“Yes,” says Caroline with a look on her face like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s my flatmate.”

Dwight scratches his temple and tries to wrap his head around how on God’s green earth Demelza, with her second-hand sweaters and strong Cornish accent, ended up moving in with Caroline Penvenen whose entire demeanour screams ‘public school education and gooseberry and cinnamon yogurt’.

“What?” She raises a critical brow. “You think I’m too posh to - ”

“Nononono. I didn't say that!"

"But you thought it," she says sharply.

He hesitates just a beat too long. Caroline snorts and turns away, disgusted.

"I simply meant –“

“Puddle, watch out!”, she yells and roughly pulls him by the arm.

Damnit. The conversation had been going so well.

“Look, I'm sorry I –", he starts off another attempt to get back into her good graces, but she cuts him off, petulantly tapping against the umbrella swaying in the rough wind:

"You’re not holding that steady, my coat is getting wet.”

"You’re very welcome to hold it yourself,” Dwight snaps before he can stop himself.

He isn’t quite sure if he’s more irritated with her bratty behaviour or himself for failing to tell a simple white lie, but because that comment was surely the last nail in the coffin of their friendly conversation, he adds: “And a few drops of water won’t dissolve your coat, you know?" It’s petty and patronising and he knows it, but right now he’s too annoyed to care.

"Oh, thank you for so _benevolently_ sharing your knowledge!”, Caroline exclaims, her voice shrill and dripping with sarcasm. “It cost me £350. And it might shrink, if you need to know."

"Who knows, maybe if you pay £350 more next time they might make it waterproof."

She opens her mouth, doubtless to fire back some cutting reply, but is interrupted before she can even say a word – not by Dwight, but by a gust of wind wrecking his umbrella.

  
xxx

By the time they find refuge under an empty bus stop Caroline’s very lovely hairdo has transformed into something rather resembling a stringy mop. A very lovely stringy mop, admittedly, because Caroline Penvenen is the kind of person who’d still look stunning after falling face-first into the mud, but a stringy mop nevertheless.

Dwight leans against the wall, panting, and closes his eyes.

From a purely objective perspective, he muses, it's actually stunning just how _badly_ he has managed to mess up this simple task of walking her home.

Subjectively, however...

Fuck. She'll never let him forget about this. Or worse, she'll never talk to him again at all.

His thoughts are disturbed by the sound of Caroline inelegantly kicking off her heels in the corner. She looks over to him, lips tightly pressed together in silent judgement, and raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on spending the night here.”

"So?"

"It's not far to my flat now, maybe three minutes if we run," she says and impatiently pushes a dripping strand of hair back behind her ear.

“But your coat...”

“...is already wet, isn’t it?”, she bluntly finishes his sentence and gestures at the many dark patches.

"Not soaking wet, not yet. Maybe if we wait until the rain stops, it'll be fine."

Dwight almost can't believe he's hearing himself suggest waiting in the cold for hours, perhaps, for the sake of a silly, overpriced object of fashion...but it’s a silly, overpriced object of fashion that’s important to her and anyway, after everything that’s happened, he owes her that.

"Well, I guess." Caroline shivers and pulls her coat tighter. "But I want to go home now," she says quieter, all flippancy and frostiness suddenly giving way to pure weariness.

Dwight bites his lower lip and nods slowly. "Okay. Okay."

There's only one way. Without any further thought, he takes off his jacket and holds it out to her.

"What?" She stares at the jacket, his face, jacket again, before understanding dawns. "Oh no, no. No.” She shakes her head, almost a little embarrassed. “I couldn't. You need that. I...I have a coat."

"...that's worth £350 and will shrink if it gets any wetter, I know." He swallows. "Look, I'm sorry for ruining your night, I don't want to ruin your coat as well."

Caroline looks him in the eyes, not judgemental this time, but thoughtful. He holds her gaze. Eventually, her lips curl into a smile and she takes the jacket from his hands to put it on.

"Thank you," she says and for once he can't detect the slightest hint of mockery or amusement in her voice, only honest, genuine gratefulness.

The strange sudden pang of utter _fondness_ for her hits him so hard and unexpected it nearly knocks him out.

"Well, how do I look?", she laughs and strikes a pose.

Dwight blinks. He has a lot of thoughts about her standing there – in truth, there’s not a single space in his mind occupied by anything else right now except for the sight of Caroline, barefoot, in his own jacket, with upturned sleeves and heels dangling over her shoulder by her fingertips, her red coat still peeking out underneath. She’s pulled the drawstrings of the hood a little too tight under her chin like a fourth grader on a rainy wood excursion, but a few strands of hair, bright yellow in the garish streetlight, have fallen out anyway and are clinging to her wet face. And the mascara at her right eye is a bit smudged but her lipstick is still impeccable and he really shouldn't be staring at her lips for that long, but she's laughing, brightly and what's more, not about him, maybe even with him...

Dwight thinks he might be a little in love.

"Ridiculous, I know." Caroline drops the pose and holds out a hand to check the rain. “Come on, let’s see how fast we can make it. On the count of three.”

  
xxx

Dwight is almost surprised when Caroline doesn’t lead them to a three-storey mansion with perfectly groomed garden and four cars, but stops in front of a plain door in a long row of standard terrace houses hardly prettier than his own.

"Well,” she says, still a little out of breath, "thank you very much for heroically saving my coat and my humble self from dissolving in this apocalyptic weather. We are forever in your debt.”

"No problem," says Dwight and wipes a wet hand across his wet forehead. He’s both tired and soaked to the bone and yet somehow… _sad_ their little adventure is over.

Who knows when they’ll meet again.

Who knows if she’ll even remember that something has _shifted_ between them tonight…

Who knows, maybe he’s just imagining it.

Caroline fumbles her keys out of her pocket and turns to open the door, but stops mid-motion. She twists her head, then slowly turns back around to look him up and down for the third time tonight.

Dwight raises his eyebrows in expectation, but she continues to pensively stare at him.

More than a little uncomfortable under her gaze, he clears his throat. "Could I have my ja-"

"Why don't you stay here for the night?", Caroline asks suddenly.

It's incredible how a single question can magically make you lose any ability to form a coherent thought. Contrary to anything his degree has taught him about the human body, Dwight can feel his temperature rise by at least 3°C. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

"Wha- Um." Stringing words together turns out to be quite the challenge if you can't think straight.  
"You're- huh. Well, I..."

"You're soaking wet, you'll catch a cold if you walk home like that,” Caroline explains hastily. “I’m sure we could find something for you to change into. And I could make you coffee to warm up."

"I don't think caffeine at 3am -"

"Hot chocolate, then,” she adds insistently. “Or tea, if you prefer that, we have all sorts of teas."

Dwight shivers in his clammy jumper. How dare she tempt him with hot beverages.

"You could sleep on our couch,” she goes on, seeing he’s not completely persuaded yet. “It's very comfy. The blanket is probably covered in dog hair, but I can give you a new one and take Horace into my room." Dwight inadvertently smiles at Horace’s mention – he’s the one who started it all, after all - and Caroline gives him a hopeful glance. “It's the least I can do to thank you."

He shifts, ringing with himself. It all sounds a little too good to be true.

"Besides, I can't let you go back to your flat and barge in on Demelza and Ross. You'd ruin all my painstaking matchmaking efforts! So you see" – she crosses her arms and grins triumphantly - "you don't have a choice."

Dwight sighs. He’s pretty sure there is a reason he should politely decline her invitation, but standing there freezing on her doorstep, he can’t remember it. The prospect of hot tea and a warm bed – well, couch, technically, but _Caroline’s_ couch, nonetheless - instead of walking half a mile in the rain in his already soaking clothes, just to intrude on his friend and Demelza and wake up with a severe cold in the morning sounds extremely tempting. Reasonable, even.

Not that reason would stand a real chance against Caroline, but…it’s a nice addition.

He gives in. Perhaps this night didn't turn out to be such a disaster after all.


End file.
